Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Damaged Bridges	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 46850 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to Rowling and Warner Bros, nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The Locket

Still shaking and pale, Harry and Hermione stood at the edge of the underground lake as the water sloshing around their ankles receded and the ripples on the surface of the dark water gradually stilled, the afterimage of their new Patronuses burned into their retinas.
“What... What happened Hermione?” Harry muttered in disbelief when he finally found his voice. “Why did our Patronuses change? ...both of them?”
“I... I don’t know Harry!” Hermione shook her head, too stunned to make heads or tails of the situation. As she racked her brains vainly, she caught a glimpse of two standing figures on the island, silhouetted against the green glow. “Harry...?”
“Yeah! I see them,” said Harry. “It’s Dora and Dumbledore, headed back to the boat. Dumbledore looks sort of alright now - more like he’s drunk.”
Both fidgeting impatiently, Harry and Hermione waited for the little boat to slide gradually across the glassy surface of the lake.
Finally it was near enough for Hermione to make out Dora’s flabbergasted features and Dumbledore’s giddy grin. The headmaster didn’t look at all like he had been dying just a few short minutes ago, but Harry was right, Dumbledore didn’t look quite all there; his gaze was unfocused and distant.
“Here, gimme a hand,” Dora gasped when the boat finally reached the shore.
Harry quickly took one of Dumbledore’s arms and helped Dora heave the headmaster onto the rocky edge of the lake. Dumbledore staggered, chuckling when he nearly slipped on a slimy patch of algae.
“Blimey! That was somethin’ else!” said Dora, eyeing the headmaster warily. “What the hell was that then?” she asked Harry and Hermione. “I’ve never seen Patronuses do anything like that before.”
“Dunno!” Harry replied, shrugging in bewilderment. “I reckoned they might help against the Inferi a bit, but neither of us expected that! ... Anyway, what’s up with Professor Dumbledore?”
“Is he alright?” Hermione asked, looking very concerned as Dumbledore continued chortling, his eyes still glazed. “We thought he was dying...”
“I thought ‘e was too for a moment there,” said Dora, shaking her head in amazement. “Now he just looks completely pissed... Anyone’d think ‘e inhaled a bottle of firewhiskey instead o’ whatever that poison was.
“I think your Patronuses had something to do with it. ... They both charged him down while the Inferi were lighting up like fireworks. The next thing I knew, he was on his feet laughing his arse off! ...”
“Our Patronuses charged Professor Dumbledore? Why would they do that?” Harry glanced at Hermione whose brows were knitted in consternation, but she still had no answers.
“Yeah, it’s bloody weird alright!” said Dora. “Anyway lets get the hell out of here... I’m sick of this place! We’ll sort him out when we get somewhere a bit safer.”
Even with the three of them, it was still a bit of a struggle to haul Dumbledore out of the cavern and back the way they had come, but they managed it with a bit of magical assistance. Finally, they were back at the top of the cliff, dripping wet, and collapsed on the grassy green bluff, grateful for the cloudless sky. It was hard to maintain a sense of horror at their nightmarish encounter with reanimated corpses under the bright light of day.
After a short while, Dumbledore’s eyes cleared and he rubbed his forehead, seeming to return to his senses.
“That was quite eventful indeed!” he remarked wryly. “I can only say that I am exceedingly grateful for your company. I doubt I would have survived this encounter had I continued to believe it was best to proceed with hunting down Riddle’s horcruxes alone. I suspect I could have contended with the Inferi had I been of clear mind, but the potion rendered any such actions on my part impossible...”
“What did it do to you?” Hermione asked. “We heard you screaming - we all thought you were dying.”
“Alas, at the time, I can only say that I wished I was in fact dying. As it so happened, the pain was all of my own making. My agony, my sorrow, my guilt regarding the death of my sister - it all became too much under the influence of the potion - unbearably so. The potion was clearly designed to amplify one’s deepest regrets and fears. ... Death seemed a welcome prospect!
“But then something extraordinary happened, and I am at a loss to explain it! All I recall in my torment as the Inferi began closing ranks around us, is a blinding light - a luminescence so bright that it penetrated me to the core.
“I briefly lost awareness of my surroundings and for a moment all was chaos - as if a battle were being waged inside me. With nowhere to hide from the invading light, Shadows fled from my soul and the pain melted away, supplanted not by numbness, but by an indescribably sublime joy beyond anything I have ever felt...”
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip as a strange idea occurred to her. Dora and Harry both shared a look with her, and she knew they were having the same thought. As she looked Dumbledore over, something else struck Hermione as different about him, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“Even when the light subsided,” Dumbledore continued, “I was still swept away by the current of ecstasy coursing through my veins - which has only just now subsided enough for me to have a coherent thought. ... Indeed, now that my faculties are restored, I must ask, how did we manage to escape the Inferi? A Firestorm spell perhaps? I vaguely recollect flames...”
“I did cast a Firestorm,” said Dora. “But it wasn’t enough. There were too many of the buggers comin’ at us from all sides. It was Harry and Hermione’s Patronuses which saved the lot of us in the end... saved you from that potion too, by the sound of it.”
“Patronuses?” Dumbledore’s forehead creased with perplex as he stroked his beard and nodded slowly. “Hmm... Yes! Yes, of course! It is not at all a common practice due to the difficulty of the charm for most people and the rarity of Inferi, but a Patronus would be a fairly effective shield against Inferi...”
“More than a shield!” Dora insisted. “The Inferi all sorta internally combusted. The Patronuses destroyed them all... and there were hundreds of ‘em. It was unbelievable!”
“You don’t say!” Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Remarkable! ... Quite remarkable! I knew Harry’s Patronus was uncommonly powerful - he singlehandedly drove away over a hundred Dementors in his third year - but this is simply unheard of! And you believe the Patronuses affected me also?”
“Yeah! They must’ve!” Dora replied. “They both ploughed right into you when they were mowin’ down the Inferi. That’s gotta be why you were so giddy after...”
“Your arm,” Hermione gasped, her eyes boggling as she suddenly realised what it was about Dumbledore which looked different, “Professor Dumbledore, look at your hand! It’s normal again!”
Harry’s eyes swiveled from the headmaster’s face to the end of his arm. Harry’s jaw dropped. The hand and forearm which had previously been shriveled and blackened was now plump and pink, as healthy in appearance as it ever had been.
“Merlin!” swore Dora.
No one was more astounded than Dumbledore himself. Dumbledore’s breath quickened and his pulse began to race as he held up his hand and peered at it incredulously. Could it be possible? Did this mean that his death was no longer imminent? Had Voldemort’s supposedly unbreakable curse been broken by Harry’s immensely powerful Patronus?
Dumbledore reminded himself that Hermione Granger’s Patronus had also been involved. He glanced at his two students, a frank expression of awe on his face, pondering the significance. The four of them peered at Dumbledore’s hand and each other for a few moments, all looking equally bewildered.
“Well,” said the headmaster, finally finding his voice, “this is all quite mysterious indeed - most unusual effects from some of the most potent Patroni I have ever encountered besides my own...”
Hermione recalled how Dumbledore had sent at least a hundred Dementors packing after Harry had fallen from his broom during the quidditch match in third year, and thought back to the night that Harry had saved her and Sirius and himself from a hundred Dementors as well - the night she had flown with him on Buckbeak.
“It wasn’t the Time Turner...” she said, turning to Harry.
“What?”
“That night, Harry, at the end of third year when you drove away all those Dementors, you said you knew you ‘could do it that time because you’d already done it,’ implying that it was because we’d gone back in time and you had realised that you had been the one to cast it the first time. ... But that never made any sense to me as an explanation for why it was so strong. Your Patronus is just as powerful as Dumbledore’s, Harry...”
“Oh, no Miss Granger,” Dumbledore interrupted, shaking his head, “Harry’s Patronus is vastly more powerful than my own by all indications. Though you are quite correct in one regard, the Time Turner had very little to do with Harry’s Patronus, other than to indicate to Harry that he already - at such a tender age, and despite his unfortunate circumstances - had the power within himself to conjure one of such incredible strength.”
Harry reddened slightly.
“I suppose,” he muttered. “I never really knew how I managed it, I just knew in that moment that I could. I... er... I was thinking about it again recently, and I reckon it had something t’do with you, Hermione...”
“Me?” Hermione squeaked. “But I didn’t even do anything - I wasn’t even with you - not really. I stayed inside Hagrid’s cabin until I heard you shout the incantation and saw the light...”
“No, you were with me,” said Harry with a look so earnest and meaningful that it made Hermione blush, “I couldn’t’ve done it without you! ... I just didn’t really understand it then. And your Patronus is powerful too, Hermione - It has to be! I don’t think it was just mine which killed all those Inferi. And... and look how our Patronuses both changed today - that has to mean something too! ...”
“Blimey!” Dora gasped. “That’s right - yours used t’be a Stag didn’ it? I remember ‘earin’ about it after the trial...”
“And yours altered as well?” Peering at Hermione thoughtfully, Dumbledore stroked his long silvery beard.
“Yes!” Hermione nodded. “It used to be an Otter. Now it’s a Lioness - I think - and Harry’s is a Lion.”
“Intriguing! Most intriguing indeed!” Dumbledore murmured. “I believe this fact offers us some clues as to their potency, and their unusual effects. It is not unheard of for a Patronus to change after an exceedingly emotional event - particularly in the case of falling deeply in love - but it is an exceedingly rare occurrence for the Patroni of both partners to transmogrify. I can only surmise that it is a sign of your eminent suitability for one another...”
Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously as Dora grinned at the embarrassed pair.
“Just like I told Mad Eye!” she said.
“In any case,” Dumbledore carried on, his eyes twinkling, “evidently you both share an affinity with commanding felines of great courage and noble spirit. As to the transmogrification of the effects of the spell itself, if I may be so impertinent as to ask, were you in physical contact - or at least in very near proximity with one another - when you conjured your Patroni?”
Harry and Hermione both nodded, still red-faced.
“Ah, I thought as much,” said Dumbledore. “I daresay then, that there is a connection of sorts which allowed the magic to circulate between you two, building in frequency and intensity with each cycle...”
“Sort of like a feedback loop!” Hermione interrupted with a gasp. Harry felt a bit lost. But he kept quiet, knowing that Hermione would get around to explaining it to him.
“Yes Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, looking very impressed, “very much like a feedback loop...”
“But how...? I mean... what’s the connection between Harry and me that caused it?”
“Ah, well...” Dumbledore responded. “The reason - if I am correct - would be much the same as the reason that wands tend to work to their greatest effect when they are matched with the right individual. The frequencies of your spirits - your magical energy fields - are matching in much the same fashion...”
Dora, who was chewing on a fingernail and trying just as hard as Harry to follow the discussion, pulled her finger out of her mouth and finally interjected her own thought, trying to make sense of things.
“D’you mean like a Soul Bond?” asked Dora.
“Oh, heavens no!” chuckled the headmaster. “Nothing nearly so trite and literal... It has more to do with the frequencies at which each partner resonates. When two people grow close to one another, their energy fields mingle, and when their frequency signatures match - or very nearly match - their oscillations tend to resonate with each other, or harmonise if you will.
“In a world as populous as ours - nearly seven billion strong - there may be any number of potential partners with matching frequencies available for each and every one of us. Nevertheless that very populousness also makes the odds of their ever meeting one another highly unlikely. ... It is very rare indeed for most people to find such a partner with whom they match so completely, which is what leads many to posit the literalisation of mythopoetic concepts such as ‘Soul Bonds’ and ‘Soul Mates.’ The only ‘bond’ which exists is the quite metaphorical ‘bond’ of affection....
“In any case, to sum things up succinctly, the feedback created by the cycling of the resonant frequencies between Harry and Miss Granger would amplify the potency of their spells when casting them in concert together as a single unit - particularly the potency of those spells which are a reflection of the emotion powering it... such as the Patronus, which is the very embodiment of Joy and love.
“And as to the unusual effects - the spell transmogrification - for the most plausible reason we must look to the work of Nikola Tesla...”
“Tesla was a wizard?” Hermione gasped.
“Oh, most certainly,” said Dumbledore.
“Who’s Nikola Tesla?” asked Harry.
“An inventor,” Hermione replied, her eyes still boggling. “He was a muggle engineer at the turn of the century - or I thought he was a muggle, anyway. He’s a bit famous, but not as famous as others like Edison or Marconi, which is rather unfair really.”
Harry still looked baffled. Edison sounded familiar, but he had no idea who Marconi was.
“Quite so, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding. “Tesla was highly skilled in both Alchemy and Muggle Engineering - not unlike Arthur Weasley. Though poor Nikola, he was snubbed in both worlds for his advanced ideas regarding the hierarchy of resonant frequencies and the amplification and transmission of electricity and magic - and he was frowned upon greatly by the ICW for skirting the International Statute of Secrecy, though he never quite stepped over the line.
“In Tesla’s view, and in mine, resonant frequencies cycling at ever higher and higher levels could produce powerful and unpredictable effects hitherto undiscovered by those working with lower orders of energy.
“I greatly suspect that it is due to the very rare confluence of factors: the complete compatibility between the energy fields of Harry and yourself, the intensity and the purity - the high quality - of your affections for one another, and that you both together cast your spells simultaneously, as One. That is why you were able to generate Patronuses of such high frequencies and magnitude that they displayed hitherto unknown effects... apparently causing the destruction of the Inferi... and by all appearances healing a Curse which would have eventually taken my life.”
“Wait, you mean you were dying?” said Harry, looking shocked.
“Indeed I was,” Dumbledore sighed. “As I began to tell you both recently, I was foolishly tempted to use Tom Riddle’s Ring - or rather, the gemstone it contained - to return my sister from beyond the veil for a short time. In my recklessness, I neglected to account for the likelihood that he had cursed it.
“Professor Snape was able to slow the spread of the curse, but eventually, it would have killed me. I had perhaps a year left at best, but now... now it would seem that the Curse is broken, and I have you both to thank for giving me back my life - for giving me a new future, uncertain though it may be. I cannot thank you enough Harry, Miss Granger - I am truly indebted to the both of you!”
Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes sparkled in the sun as he beamed gratefully at his students. There was awkward silence for a moment, as neither Harry nor Hermione knew quite how to respond, not feeling entirely comfortable accepting gratitude for something they had done without knowledge. Dumbledore seemed to understand and left well enough alone, turning his attention to Dora.
“Ah, Tonks, I do believe we have a prize to examine.”
“Hunh?” Dora was momentarily puzzled, still stunned by the revelation that Dumbledore had been dying. She snapped out of her stupor, suddenly comprehending, and reached into the pocket of her jeans, retrieving a golden locket. “Oh, er, yeah... of course! Here...”
The golden locket gleamed in the sunlight as Dumbledore took it from Dora’s hand. His brow furrowed pensively and he passed it to Harry.
“Definitely not a Horcrux,” Harry muttered. “It doesn’t look like Slytherin’s locket either - not big enough - no S on it...” Harry’s fingers fiddled with the clasp, then he halted and glanced at Dumbledore questioningly, wondering if he was out of turn.
“By all means, Harry, continue,” said Dumbledore kindly.
Opening the locket, Harry discovered only a folded piece of parchment within. A slight shiver ran up his spine which had nothing to do with the cold wind sweeping the grassy knoll at the top of the cliff. Hermione peered over Harry’s shoulder and read aloud the words scrawled on the parchment.
“‘To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.’ ... Signed, ‘R.A.B.’ ...” Hermione frowned. “Who’s R.A.B.?”
“A very good question, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied. “Offhand, I cannot recall any one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters with such initials - though as not all were caught, even I do not know the entire extent of Voldemort’s organisation during the last war, and my memory is not what it once was.”
“I wonder how he found out about the Horcrux,” said Harry, “and if he really destroyed it?”
“Or she...” Hermione said pointedly, raising her eyebrows. Harry smiled, unable to help thinking of their ongoing argument as to the gender of the “Prince.”
“Bollocks!” Dora groaned. “How the hell are we supposed to find the real thing now? I mean, we still gotta try, right? ... to make sure it really was killed?”
Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed we do, Tonks. Our task is very much cut out for us... However, we would be wise not to allow disappointment to cloud our faculties,” he added, catching the expressions on Harry’s and Hermione’s faces.
“In the meantime, we shall simply continue the hunt whilst preparing to meet the forces of Darkness in battle. Harry, you and Miss Granger have both succeeded in unlocking a powerful force of the sort that Voldemort can never hope to comprehend.
“For the moment, continue to focus your efforts on your education and training, and take the opportunity to explore the extent of your newfound abilities... and to plumb the means by which they are powered,” Dumbledore added with a canny wink that made Harry and Hermione both turn scarlet.

~o0o~
The return to Hogwarts was uneventful, and nobody seemed to have missed them. The grounds were peaceful; not as many students taking advantage of the sunshine as one might have thought, due to the biting winds common at this time of year with Spring just around the corner.
Hermione seemed lost in thought as they strolled up the path to the castle - Dumbledore had stopped off at Hagrid’s hut - and Harry too found himself deep in rumination, unable to get his mind off the initials, R.A.B., despite Dumbledore’s insistence that they try to move on. There was something about them that nagged at the back of his mind.
But Harry’s contemplative mood was broken by sniggers and guffaws. He looked over at the figures lurking by a balustrade near the entrance of the castle and scowled; apparently Nott had taken over Malfoy’s position as Crabbe and Goyle’s overlord and the gormless pair of gorillas were laughing sycophantically at something Nott had just said.
And Nott seemed to be on a roll. “Oi, Potter, how does a used Mudblood feel after McLaggen’s broken it in? Still tight enough for you? ... or is the slapper so loose you fall in every time you go down on it?”
Hermione’s features burned, twisting with revulsion and humiliation.
“Piss off, Nott!” Harry snarled, his arm slipping protectively around Hermione. Then he peered at Crabbe and Goyle who were now roaring and holding their sides. “You tossers are all so gruesome you probably can’t even get your mitts to put out for you.”
Nott sneered; Crabbe and Goyle stopped laughing and scratched their heads as they tried to work out Harry’s insult. Harry took advantage of their momentary silence to edge past them and through the massive front doors into the castle with Hermione.
“You alright?” Harry asked worriedly, once they were out of earshot.
Hermione nodded, then they both turned around, hearing a loud bang echo across the Entrance Hall. Just outside the open front doors of the castle, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were sprawled in a heap atop one another and groaning as Dora loomed over them, her wand still in her hand.
“Sorry ‘bout that lads,” she said. “I mistook you lot for a load of Ghouls. Can’t be too careful these days...” Dora glanced across the foyer and winked at Harry and Hermione.

~o0o~
As it turned out, Harry was too busy to put much time into thinking about R.A.B., between his schoolwork, his training, and Quidditch practice - the match against Hufflepuff was in less than a week.
He had asked Dumbledore on Wednesday, but the headmaster still had no answers, as apparently there were a surprising number of wizards and witches to whom the initials could have applied, presuming that the initials were in fact legit, and not made up to throw Voldemort off the real scent... which was a distinct possibility Dumbledore had suggested to Harry.
Hermione too, spent as much time as she could researching possible leads in between her schoolwork, with just as little luck as Dumbledore.
Harry resigned himself to things and focused his attentions the last few days on making sure that everyone on the Gryffindor team was in top form. Indeed, everybody was performing so well, that Harry’s only concern was Zacharias Smith, whose animus and hostility seemed matched only by that of Nott and Crabbe and Goyle.
Saturday morning finally arrived with partly cloudy skies and a minimal breeze. Feeling a slight sense of trepidation, Harry entered the pitch to a chorus of cheers and boos. Ron swaggered behind him, grinning and waving at Lavender who was sitting in the stands with Hermione and Parvati.
Seamus was sitting in the stands by himself nearby, looking disgruntled as Dean was taking the opportunity to chat up Susan Bones. Harry took the last few minutes before the match began to issue a few last minute instructions.
“...and make sure you fly out of the sun at every opportunity,” Harry concluded, speaking to Coote and Peakes, the team’s Beaters. He glanced at Ginny who was waving and beaming at the podium. But Harry didn’t catch who she was gesturing at as Madam Hooch blew the whistle at that very moment and the game was on.
Harry zoomed up above the stands, keeping his eyes peeled for the Snitch. Ten minutes in and the game was proceeding relatively smoothly with Ron blocking every potential Hufflepuff goal, and Ginny and Demelza scoring two apiece. Harry was so wrapped up in the match that it took him a while for the dreamy voice resounding throughout the quidditch pitch to register with him...
“...Smith of Hufflepuff has the quaffle now. He’s not very nice. He was quite rude about Ginny when he was commenting last time, and he’s been really mean about Hermione too... I don’t think he likes Gryffindors very much. Maybe he should have been sorted into Slytherin...”
“Blimey!” Harry muttered to himself, peering at the podium with bemusement. “Luna’s commenting? Is this some sort of joke?”
By the pained expression on McGonagall’s face, it was apparent that she was having similar thoughts.
“...Oh, goody!” Luna squealed happily, “Ginny’s got the quaffle from Smith now. I really like Ginny - she’s my best friend - she’s really sweet. We went to Hogsmeade together...”
Harry gawked at Luna, pondering her meaningful tone. He glanced at Ginny who was blushing furiously as she dove out of the way of a hurtling bludger. The bludger caught the tail of Ginny’s broom and she spun - momentarily out of control - losing the quaffle in the process.
“...Oh no!” Luna moaned, “Now that big Hufflepuff has the quaffle - I can’t quite remember his name - Bilbo something perhaps? Baggins maybe? ...”
“It’s Cadwallader!” McGonagall shouted in despair.
Harry chortled and refocused his attention to looking for the snitch, trying not to be distracted by Luna’s commentary. Somehow Nargles and Blibbering Humdingers came up - something to do with the shape of the clouds - but Harry managed to ignore all of that. It was hard not to laugh though when he heard Luna suggest that Smith might have an affliction called “Loser’s Lurgy.”
Then he saw it - a flash of gold hovering not more than twenty metres away - and soared up into the sky after it...
“...It looks like Smith is arguing with one of the Beaters on his team,” Harry barely heard Luna saying, “Smith’s taken the bat and is going after the bludger himself - I’m not sure if that’s allowed...”
Harry heard no more as seconds after Luna’s pronouncement all he could hear were shrieks... Hermione screaming his name... all he could see were the stars before his eyes... Agonising pain ripped through his head and for a moment Harry wondered if Voldemort had invaded the school... Then everything went black.

~o0o~
Harry passed by the familiar Black Family tapestry again with an armful of old robes. The Weasleys bustled about with various items as Sirius nodded and told them to bung it all in the sack too.
A heavy gold locket that no one could open was thrown into the sack and Harry rubbed at his painfully burning scar, knowing that Voldemort was angry about something. He had an eerie sense of Deja Vu when Sirius caught Kreacher sneaking around a short while later and wrestled away a ring bearing the Black Family crest from the ancient, wizened house-elf.
“It was my father’s,” said Sirius, tossing the ring back in the sack as Kreacher left the room sobbing. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was in tears herself, and found himself wondering why Sirius couldn’t have just let Kreacher hang on to a few mementos. Then Harry found himself wondering why Sirius was still alive.
Harry felt a sudden rush of wind and saw a flash of gold again - he was chasing a snitch, feeling a girl’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He caught a whiff of spearmint toothpaste and realised that Hermione was on his broom with him as he soared above the stadium at the Quidditch World Cup.
Wait! No... the gold was Hermione’s tawny curls catching the morning sun streaming through a window criss-crossed with webs of frost... or was it the soft golden glow of the lamp above the bed.
He was in bed - in a bed in the hospital wing once again. He was sure of it now that he could feel the pillow under his head, and the feel of crisp linen against his skin. Harry groaned, his eyelids slowly opening, his head throbbing. He tried to sit up, but his head felt heavy.
“Don’t get up Harry.” Hermione’s tear-streaked features came into view and he could see her puffy red eyes as she squeezed his hand. “You took a nasty blow to the head.”
“Shite!” Harry swore, noting the pink clouds against the purple sky outside the hospital wing’s windows. “The match - what the hell happened?”
“You fell nearly thirty metres,” said Hermione. “And you fell because Zacharias Smith aimed a bludger at your head...”
“What? But he’s a Chaser, why would he...?”
“Because he was angry and wanted to make sure you wouldn’t catch the snitch! He grabbed one of the Hufflepuff Beaters’ bats...”
“Bloody hell!” Harry fumed. “So I suppose Dean filled in? Did we lose?”
“No!” Hermione shook her bushy head. “The rest of the match was canceled and Smith was suspended from the Hufflepuff team - apparently it’s a violation of the rules to switch positions during a play.”
“Though if you ask me, he should have been suspended for trying to hurt you,” Hermione added furiously. “But...”
“...but that’s what bludgers are for anyway,” Harry sighed. “I suppose Peakes and Coote weren’t anywhere near enough to protect me...”
“Right!” said Hermione, nodding curtly, her nostrils flaring with anger. Harry had a strong feeling from the dangerous flash in Hermione’s eyes that Peakes and Coote had got almost as much of an earful from Hermione after the match as Smith had.
“Anyway,” Hermione continued, her features softening with worry, “you had a cracked skull and a concussion, but Madam Pomfrey healed it right away. You’ll still have to stay overnight, but I’m not leaving you...”
“I expect Pomfrey might have something to say about that,” said Harry wryly.
“She already tried, but Dumbledore and McGonagall both said I could stay.” Hermione looked rather satisfied and Harry grinned.
“Brilliant!” he said. “So I suppose it could’ve been worse! My broom didn’t blow into the Whomping Willow this time, did it?”
Hermione shook her head and half-smiled. “No! It’s safe... Ron put it away for you.”
“Good! That’s good...” Harry caught the look in Hermione’s eye and knew that she wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure if he was up to it. “Come on then,” he said, patting the bed, “There’s plenty of room and I could use a cuddle.”
Hermione beamed gratefully at Harry and settled on top of the linen bedsheet beside him, her bushy head on his shoulder and an arm around his waist, and let out a contented sigh to have Harry back in the land of the living. Harry reached up a hand to stroke her messy hair and kissed her forehead, feeling much better.
They lay like that for a while in silence and bits of Harry’s dreams resurfaced, replaying in his mind’s eye. Suddenly he gasped, his eyes widening.
“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, concerned.
“Hermione, I think I know who R.A.B. is...”
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Damaged Bridges